


The Day The Music Died

by CaraBeatriceGreen



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Backstory, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Loneliness, Regret, Spoilers!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-04-04 20:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaraBeatriceGreen/pseuds/CaraBeatriceGreen
Summary: A story in which we learn what happened to Hector when he first came to the land of the dead.





	1. Arrival

It came unexpected. A sharp pain in his stomach. At the time, he no idea what was going on; why the strange pain was spreading from his stomach to everything else in his body. At this point, he figured he was going to throw up. But he didn't. Instead, unbeknownst to him, the poison was in his blood stream, heading straight for his heart. He was starting to lose consciousness.  
'No!' he thought. 'I have to make it home! My wife, my daughter, they need me! It can't end like this!' But it was too late. Héctor felt his body going numb, right before blacking out and collapsing on the cold pavement.

Not long after, he began hearing voices above him. But instead of startling him it just confused him. 'Wait, wait, wait... I thought I was dead? Am I in the hospital? Dios, what's happening to me?' he tried to open his eyes, but it was painful to do so. So, he decided to focus on what the voices were saying.

“How long is he going to be out like this?” one voice said.

“Who knows? Have you found a name yet?” asked another. There were sounds of pages being flipped.

“Says here his name is Héctor Rivera, age 21. He has living family in Santa Cecilia, Mexico. A wife and daughter.”

“What about in the Land of the Dead? Is anyone there to welcome him. Make the transition easier?”

At that, Héctor grew even more puzzled. 'Land of the Dead'? 'Transition'? 'What in Dios' name was going on? The voices continued.

“No. Says here he's an orphan. He never knew his parents in life so they experienced the Final Death before he turned 18.”

“How sad. He'll have to go through everything alone. And on top of that, he died prematurely. He has a rough road ahead of him.

Finally Héctor managed to open his eyes. Whoever thought he died must have been wrong. Dead people don't wake up. Boy these two were in for a surprise.

“How do you think he'll react?”

“Ten pesos says he's one that freaks out.”

“I think he'll faint first.”

When his vision cleared, he realized he was in what looked like a hospital room. He was lying in a bed with a blanket over him. Chairs were to his left. Both floors and walls were white. He turned to the right where the voices came from. There, dressed in business wear were two...

“SKELETONS! Aaahhhh! Get away from me!” Héctor backed up against the wall behind him.

“You owe me ten pesos.” said the one with the tie, dress shirt, and slacks.

“Not yet I don't.” said the one with the blazer and skirt. “You said he'd freak out. You never said 'why'.”

“Very well, double or nothing on his transformation?”

“You're on!” The female turned to Héctor and began speaking calmingly. “There, there, Señor Rivera. You've had a rough night. We're not going to hurt you, ok?”

“No! It's not 'ok'! I need to go home and see my family! Instead I'm having a stupid, drunken, nightmare!”

“He thinks he's dreaming Maria. Give him the mirror.”

“I have a better idea. Ok, Señor Rivera. I'm just going to check to see if you have phantom pains.” The esqueleta reached out a bony hand towards Héctor. Héctor pressed himself as far as he could against the wall. She lifted up his mariachi jacket and stuck her hand where his stomach should have been.

It hurt when she did. A lot. But why? Héctor knew pain didn't exist in the realm of sleep. He should be waking up now. Unless, he was already awake and had been the whole time.

“This isn't a dream, is it?” He asked. Both skeletons shook their heads. “Then where am I? And who are you?

“You're in the Land of the Dead.” The man explained.

“We are here to help _welcome_ you to the Land of the Dead, and help you accommodate to your new situation.” Maria continued.

“What are you talking about?” Maria took the mirror and handed it to Héctor. Héctor reached out for it but then caught a glimpse of something not right. Moving his digits he realized in horror that the bony hand he was staring at was his own. He jerked to look at his other hand. It too was skeletal. He flung off the blanket. Two bony feet stuck out of his pants legs. He snatched the mirror, dreading what he would see. Sure enough, his reflection was not what he normally saw. In the mirror, looking as mortified as he felt, was a skull with his shaggy dark hair and goatee! The skull had eyes that would blink and move as his own did!

“ _I'm_ a skeleton!”

“Now you owe me _20_ pesos.” said the man.

“A bet is a bet, Rico.” said Maria, handing him his winnings.  
“Look, guys I don't want to be a skeleton. So can you change me back so I can go home?”

“Can we even do that?”

“No.” said Rico. “Once you are dead, you stay dead. There's no way around it.”

“You mean, I'm going to be like this for the rest of my life?” Héctor asked, shocked.

“Death, actually.” Maria elbowed Rico and gave him a 'shut up or else' look.

“Rico!” She softened before looking back at Héctor. “Señor Rivera, please, you have to remain calm. The doctor said around 8:00pm you should be ready to walk down to Customs so they can prepare a temporary home for you. Unfortunately, you have only 3 years for your family to put your photo up on their ofrenda or you'll be moved to Shanty Town. Rico, has the police notified the living family of his death?”

“Hmmm.” Rico frowned. “He hasn't been reported dead or missing yet. And his body has yet to be found.”

“But that's impossible!” The skeletons turned their attention towards Héctor. Surprised he cleared his throat and continued. “When I d-di-die...”

“Died?”

“Yeah, that.” Héctor said, not comfortable stating the obvious. “My friend Ernesto was there. He was walking me to the train station.”

“So he witnessed your death? Then why didn't he report it to the authorities?”

“No one is going to know that, Rico.”

“Sure would make our job easier if someone did.”

“You know as well as I do that the living can't interact with the dead.”

“They can't?” Héctor asked. Maria sighed and patted his hand. He jerked away, before remembering he was a skeleton now too.

“Relax, Señor, eh, Héctor. If they put your photo up, then you can see them on Dio De Los Muertos. They won't be able to see you but you can see them and take the offerings they leave for you.”

“So I will have to live here, in a world of strangers, until my family dies too? They'll have to die in order to see me again? Will they even recognize me?” He got out of bed and carefully walked to a full sized mirror across the room. Looking at his full reflection for the first time, he realized just how little he looked like himself. His big ears and nose were always the butt of the joke when someone was teasing him or trying to put him down. Even Ernesto, who was his best friend would laugh about them sometimes. His wife had always told him that his large facial features were what made him him and that he should never be ashamed of them. His daughter would reach up and touch them with tenderness whenever he held her close. But now he was a skeleton. And skeletons did not have ears and noses. All through life he hated the way they made him look. But now that they were gone, he regretted it. “Just look at me. I'm like some sad stick figure.” He said, slowly sinking to his knees. The sobs of a broken man could be heard from across the room.


	2. Customs

Héctor continued to sob. He sobbed for his life, it had been cut so short. He was just beginning to really enjoy it now that he had a family to take care of. A family who loved him as much as he loved them.  
He sobbed for his wife, who loved him just the way he was. She worried about him when he would tour with Ernesto. But she always understood that music was important to him. Not only did it provide for them, it was his passion. He loved to play because it would make people smile and dance. It would bring happiness to everyone who heard him. Unless Ernesto told her, she would never know he was trying to get home to her. He hoped Ernesto would at least tell her why she would never see him again.  
But most of all, Héctor sobbed for his daughter. She would have to live out the rest of her life without a father; without him. He would never get to take her on her first day of school. Never get to put the fear of God into her first admirer. Never get to walk her down the aisle. There were so many milestones he would miss. His wife would have to raise their daughter alone. Unless of course, someone else came into the picture. And really, who could blame her? Ernesto was the only one who knew of his death. For all he knew, Ernesto could continue the tour without him and forget all about his amigo. Imelda would think he ran off, probably to become famous, or worse, to be with another woman. And his sweet Coco would never know that he wanted to come home to be the father that she deserved. She was coming up on her fourth birthday, another milestone he wouldn't be there for. He had failed as a husband and a father. Héctor could only hope that Imelda would find a way to support herself and their daughter. Even if that meant finding someone else. He took a deep, shaky breath and rose to his feet. 

“Which way is customs?” He asked, startling the two business skeletons who had been talking amongst themselves; most likely about him.

“Oh, um, I can take you there.” said Maria. “Follow m...” Héctor cut her off.

“I'd rather go alone, señora.” he said, turning around. 

“Down the hall, last door on the right.” said Rico, pointing. Héctor walked towards to door, his bony feet click-clacking on the tile. He stopped briefly before turning the knob.

“Let me know when my family finds out I'm d-d-dead.” he stuttered. The two nodded. “Adiós.”

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

“Welcome to Customs, señor. How may I help you today?” said an overly cheery skeleton. Héctor gave him a nervous look.

“You seem...happy?” he stated.

“Of course I am! Who wouldn't appreciate such a beautiful day in the Land of the Dead? Now is there anything I can do for you?” It then dawned on Héctor why he was there in the first place. He face-palmed himself for getting distracted.  
“I'm, uh, new here?” He still wasn't comfortable with his situation, particularly the 'dead' part.

“Ah. The newly departed esqueleto.” Héctor flinched at being called an 'esqueleto'. The man began searching through a stack of paperwork. “Here we are; Héctor Rivera. Do you have a form of identification?” The man held out his skeletal hand automatically, for he did this on a daily basis.

“What do mean? You don't think I am who I say I am?”

“It's just standard protocol, señor.” The man said, briefly showing annoyance. “We'll take just about any kind. A birth certificate, a student ID, a passport, proof of residence, proof of country of origin, a social security number, a marriage license, etc.

“Oh!” Héctor went to pull out his wallet. He searched the pocket inside his jacket, which was where he put it when he was performing. He frowned and began to search his other pockets, growing more frantic by the second. Finally, he realized his wallet wasn't on him. “I must have been pick-pocketed! I always have my wallet!”

“Strange. Stealing from the dead usually doesn't come without consequences. Oh well, I guess we'll have to use the new system.”

“Que?” 

“Smile for the camera.” Before Héctor could ask what a camera had to do with anything, there was a quick flash and a *Click*. “Well according to the machine here, you're Héctor Rivera alright.” said the man. Héctor rolled his eyes.

“How much longer is this going to take?” He asked. 

“In a hurry are you? Well, we still haven't finished and probably won't for another hour. But once we're done here I can send you to Hospitality, okay? Now, do you have any items that came with you from the Land of the Living?”

“I checked all my pockets. I don't seem to have anything on me but my clothes.” The man laughed. “What is so funny?” Héctor asked.

“Nothing, it's just, well, I mean, never-mind. We are almost done. All we have to do now is take your picture.

“But you already did that. Why another picture?”

“For your new ID of course. Now look at the camera and try to smile this time, okay?” Héctor did and the photo and ID began to print.

“Why is there a photo as well?” Héctor asked looking closer at the printer. The photo was of him, but as a human! Suddenly filled with excitement, he looked at his hands to see if he was truly human again. Nope, still a skeleton. Disappointment and sadness filled his phantom heart and his features showed this. “I really am dead then, aren't I?” he asked, already knowing the answer. The printer let out a *Ding*, signaling that it had finished. The man handed Héctor his ID but it was a photo of his skeleton form. “Why is it different? And why are there colored markings on my face?”

“Those are calavera markings. Everyone has them, but each are unique. Seems that yours are a mix between your father's and your mother's. Well, we're all done. I'm sending you to Hospitality.”

“Wait!” The man raised an eyebrow in response. Héctor paused before speaking. “Can I keep that photo?” he asked, gesturing to the one of his human form.

“I suppose I could make a copy. Why do you want it?”

“Personal reasons I'd rather not say.” Héctor replied quickly.

“Very well.” the man made a copy of the photo and handed it to Héctor. “We have to keep the original in our files for legal reasons. But you can keep this one.” Héctor took it carefully and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket. It was the only proof of what he used to look like. The only proof that he was once human.


	3. Hospitality

Hospitality

“So, before we can help you with housing, you need to fill out these change of address forms.” said the receptionist.

“Dios! What is with you people? I died tonight and ever since then, I've had to go from one room to the next, where everyone else seems to be okay with that fact!” yelled a now angry Héctor. He was normally a level-headed, non violent man. But by now, he was so sick and tired of everyone showing little or no concern with his permanent situation. These people dealt with new arrivals every day. The least they could do was show a little compassion.

“Señor, I'm just doing my job. If you continue this outburst, I'm going to have to call security.” the woman replied, seemingly oblivious that Héctor was experiencing the 5 stages of grief. Which made sense, seeing as Héctor himself wasn't aware of that fact. All he knew was that death was bringing out the worst in him. And that, despite the fact that he died five hours ago, he still wasn't used to his skeleton form. With an exasperated sigh, he went and seated himself in one of the chairs in the waiting room, taking a packet of forms about the size of a hotel phone book. He began filling them out and for a while, he sort of spaced out. He was filling in the blanks correctly, but his mind seemed to forget where he was. As it continued to drift, his hands even looked like human hands instead of those of a skeleton. But he came back to reality the moment he reached the last three pages. “Cause of Death?” he questioned no one in particular. Furrowing his brow and tapping the pencil against his skull, he thought back to earlier that night.

Ernesto and him were playing at a venue in Mexico City. After playing, they went to grab something to eat. Some guy had a stand on the side of the street and was selling chorizo tacos. Héctor wasn't much for street food, it never seemed to agree with him. But Ernesto insisted and even offered to buy, so Héctor complied. Then he remembered Ernesto's last words.   
“Maybe it was the chorizo, my friend?”

'Food poisoning? I died of food poisoning? But, that can't be right.' he thought to himself. Sure, street food gave his stomach instant fits, but he never got deathly ill from it. It was quite an odd mystery, that was for sure. Little did Héctor know, that it would be almost another hundred years before he would find out the truth. He finished filling out the forms and handed them back to the receptionist. She took them and began running the information through the database on her desktop. 

“Ok Señor Rivera, I'll send out a hospitality member momentarily. They'll show you around and take you to your temporary apartment complex.” She looked Héctor up and down. “By the way, if you are looking to make some extra cash, I know a guy who would gladly buy your charro suit.” Héctor was about to blurt out a few choice words in Spanish, but instead chose to take a breath and calm himself. He began to ponder whether or not to take her up on her offer. It was only a performance suit, and it wasn't as if Imelda had made it for him. Ernesto and him had bought matching ones before going on tour. Depending on the offer price, he was willing to sell it.

“How much?” he asked  
“He's not here right now, but I can pay 300 pesos for it and he can just pay me back.”

“What am I going to where instead?” He was suddenly aware that he couldn't walk around without any clothes, even if he was a skeleton. 

“Eh, try the lost and found.” she pointed as her attention returned to her computer. Héctor turned in the direction her finger had pointed and walked down a dimly lit hallway. He continued walking until the keyboard clicks the receptionist was making were inaudible. Both the poor lighting and sudden silence made the room unnerving, to say the least. It was enough to send a shiver down Héctor's spine. Héctor had to stifle a scream when he heard his bones rattle. He found the door to the lost and found, but as soon as he opened it, an avalanche of miscellaneous items knocked him to the floor. As he tried to get up, he soon realized a horrific truth: his bones had been scattered due to the force of the avalanche. This time he let out a very loud scream that echoed off the walls. The receptionist came running and noticed the mess and a disassembled Héctor. “I'm terribly sorry, Senor. I should have warned you that the lost and found was full.”

“That's quite an understatement.” Héctor groaned from under a pile of clothing. The receptionist set the clothing aside, and found Héctor's skull sitting amidst more junk. She then proceeded to place his bones in a pile of their own.

“There, now you can put yourself back together.” she stated. Héctor just stared at her questionably. “Well go on. I can't clean up this mess by myself.” 

“And what, exactly, do you expect me to do? I am literally in pieces right now.” he retorted.

“They didn't tell you on arrival? Aye, Dios. They really need to explain important stuff like this. Maybe create a pamphlet...”

“Um, buenos días, Señora! I still need fixing here.”

“Oh, right. You have to either put yourself back together manually or you can use the 'attraction' technique. You have to will your bones to reattach themselves.”

“Will?” he questioned. Hector began concentrating. As he did this his bones magnetically began reattaching themselves. In minutes, he was standing once more. Reaching down, he picked up his skull and screwed it back on. He then noticed the pile of clothes and began rummaging through them. He picked out a purple shirt, some khaki striped pants, a red neckerchief, and a straw hat. “There, all set.” Hector said. A look of confusion came across his features when he noticed the receptionist looking away from him. He looked down and saw his charro suit on the floor. With haste, Hector quickly dressed.


	4. Real-Estate

Real-estate

As Héctor began helping the receptionist clean up the mess, a thought occurred to him. “Señora, where did all of these lost items come from?” A sad and mournful look crossed the esqueletta's face.

“Most of them are not lost. Most of them, have simply been left behind.”

“Que? Left behind?” Héctor asked, puzzled. The receptionist sighed.

“You've heard of the Final Death, yes?”

“Si, but no one really explained anything about it. Well, except that my parents experienced it before I got here. What...is it, exactly?”

“Aye, Dios. You poor thing. The least they could have done was fill you in. You see, when you and anyone else who knew them in life, died or worse, forgot your parents, they became Forgotten. They died one last time and disappeared from this world. Tragically, it happens to more souls than you think. And like this place, once it occurs, it is irreversible.”

“So, it's my fault they're not here, isn't it?” Depression began to show in Héctor's features. He began to remember. 

His mother's name was Sofia and she loved to dance. She would wear her dark hair in braids pulled into a tight bun, with a red rose. His father, Pedro, bought her a beautiful dress for their anniversary. That night, they left him, their 8 year-old son, at home with a neighbor. They went out dancing, but a fire broke out at the dance hall. Pedro made it out ok, but soon discovered Sofia was still inside. He went back in to save her and the building collapsed.

“Señor Rivera, are you ok?”

“Huh, what?” Héctor blinked himself back into the present and noticed the receptionist’s worried expression. “Oh, uh si. I’m ok.”

“Well just know, it’s not your fault your parents were forgotten. Our loved ones in the Land of the Living, no matter how dedicated they are to the traditions, have no knowledge of how important those traditions are. That’s why it’s so important to remember your family and to pass down their stories.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” Héctor remarked.

“Point is, the memories of our loved ones can sometimes be quite painful. That’s probably why it was so easy to forget your parents.” Héctor only nodded, for he was lost in thought. “Well, the mess is cleaned up and you have clothes so I’m going back to my desk. Oh and before I forget, here’s the check I wrote out for your charro suit.” The esqueleta handed him a slip of paper, took the charro suit, and left to return to her desktop.

 

 

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

“And over here we have the shopping district, where all you’re fashion needs can be met!” Héctor just rolled his eyes. This tour was taking forever, and he was ready for it to be over so he could get to his apartment and brood. Sure, the Land of the Dead was quite beautiful and lively for its name. But his family and true home were in the Land of the Living. Despite the fact that he was dead, he knew he didn’t belong here. How could he? He knew no one here. And because he had died so young, he wouldn’t for a long time. Héctor was alone again, and it was worse than being at the orphanage. He could make friends with the other orphans because they had a lot in common. The only common thing he shared with people here was being dead. He sighed. One of the skeletons on the tour bus was gently strumming a guitar, and beautiful music flowed in Héctor's direction. He smiled only for a moment, before looking depressingly at the floor of the bus. If he had only stayed with Coco and Imelda, this would never had happened. He would get to live out the rest of his life with his family and hopefully die an old man. But it was too late. He was never going to have that chance, and he only had himself to blame.

“Hey, buddy! What’s wrong with you?” asked the tour guide. It took a while before Héctor realized he was talking to him.

“Oh, uh...” Everyone on the bus was looking at him, and the sudden, unwanted attention was making him nervous. “Uh, guess I’m just a little tired.” It was the truth. Héctor may have not felt physically exhausted but, he certainly was emotionally. All this depression and anger had really worn him out.

When the tour was finally over, Héctor was shown the apartment in which he would be residing. It wasn’t much but, well, it wasn’t much. It had a small bed in the far corner, a kitchenette across from the front door, a table for two, and a living area with a sofa and a little bookshelf. Rent was free, but if he wanted something nicer, he would have to fork out a few thousand pesos. Which, he didn’t have, especially since wallet was stolen. As he looked around the pitiful room, he realized something was missing.

“Where do I um, you know...”  
“No, I don’t know. What are trying to say?”  
“Um, relieve myself?” he asked with a sheepish grin.  
“Oh! You mean the restroom?”  
“Um yeah, the restroom.” Héctor said, as he squinted his eyes and tapped his forehead.  
“There are no restrooms in the Land of the Dead.” the Realtor recited.  
“Then where am I supposed to go?” Héctor hated asking this. He didn’t want to look like un estúpido idiota. Unfortunately that seemed to be the case.  
“Señor, let me ask you something. Do you have kidneys?”  
“Well yeah, everyone does.”  
“The dead do not.” the Realtor stated harshly. Héctor glanced at the window and noticed the sad appearance of the skeleton looking back at him. His reflection.  
“Oh, si.” he said and reached up a hand to begin rubbing his elbow, a nervous tick he’d always had. But instead of feeling soft, warm, flesh he only felt cold, hard, bone. It wasn’t at all reassuring like it used to be.

True, he had always had a bony figure. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t hold his own in a bar fight, though. He had had his share of those thanks to Ernesto. Héctor knew there was a point where ‘one more’ became too much. He knew his own alcoholic tolerance, and though his friend claimed he knew his, that wasn’t at all true. When Ernesto became drunk, he thought nothing could hurt him. But again, that wasn’t at all true. Both would get back to the motel with bruises and black eyes. His friend would pass out on the first place he landed, be it the couch or the floor. He would get so drunk sometimes, Héctor would beg Ernesto to cancel a performance. Luckily he would eventually cave for the sake of their reputations, and that his hangovers got the best of him. Héctor wondered who would help his amigo with his addiction now that he was dead. Would Ernesto replace him? Who knew at this point? The Realtor interrupted his thoughts.

“Well, we’re done here so I’ll be on my way.” He showed himself out so Héctor returned to his reflection.

“Tu es un estúpido idiota, Héctor.” he sighed. “What am I going to do? I want to go home, but I suppose this is my home now.” he walked across the room to the bookshelf. Héctor needed to occupy himself before he broke down again. So, he searched the shelf for some blank paper, figuring he could write a song about his hardship. But all he found were ‘how-to’ books. Some such titles included,

• How to Make Tamales  
• How to Mend Your Charro Suit  
• How to Fry Sopapeas  
• How to Play Guitar

Hector was about to give up, when a particular book caught his eye. “How to go into business for yourself.” he read.

**Author's Note:**

> So did you like it? I've been thinking a lot about this senerio and at first i didn't want to write it because i didn't think I'd do it justice. But I finally decided why the heck not so yeah. Please comment what you guys think. I love your feedback. Toodles!


End file.
